Dear Mr Curly, I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all nothings lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that I am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat. Yours sleepily, Vasco Pyjama xxx P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
Sounds interesting. I've seen a few of the characters and some look more interesting than others, but it's still a fresh take. It looks from the outside like you don't have to worry too much about team class balance like TF2, which is nice. Though, I'd have to play it to find out for sure.
Well, I have a break in my studies in a few weeks. Perhaps I'll give it a closer look then.
I played plenty of TF2 in the past, so the style and gameplay looks appealing. Really, I've had a mild interest in Overwatch for a while, but I've not got around to actually buying and playing the game. A lot of friends of mine are getting into it, though. Have you started playing it? What do you think of it?
Also, you caught me being up later than I should be. I'll probably go to sleep soon.
After being directly involved with killing an enemy Senche-raht with no small help from allied mages, Gallus looked at the enemy line with brief scepticism as Ri'vashi suggested drawing the attention of the enemy mages to their own Senche-rahts. "That didn't sound like orders, so I assume you want my advice," Gallus said loudly, though not with any mischief in his expression this time. "If you think the Senche-raht can take the magic, send them. Otherwise I think its risky to put them under concentrated fire."
The time they were taking to make a decision was time they didn't have. "Your decision, clan-leader." For once in a long time, Gallus' mention of Ri'vashi's title was not done with a teasing undertone.
Outside of a battle, Fendros might have been impressed at landing such a steep shot in the first attempt. He instead felt unsettled at the armoured commander's look in their direction. Perhaps it was just Lorag's recounts, but Fendros did not feel safe with that Do'rhajul character still in command. He was expecting something to go wrong. He just knew that whatever it was would likely be something he didn't consider. Fendros did not have to wait in anticipation for long.
When the bridges were destroyed, one and then the other, things suddenly seemed less certain to say the least. Gallus' head flicked around to observe the flashes and flying embers after each of the cacophonous blasts sounded. The masonry that fell echoed the feeling of realisation at what he felt should have been obvious. "The bridges...wait! Ra'jorr is trapped!" Gallus observed to Ri'vashi.
Back up on the eastern wall, Janius was brought out of his stunned state brought about by the explosions when Meesei spoke of her plan. He was about to protest before Lorag shouted to get back on ground level. At that point there was no stopping her. Instead, Janius simply gave a few parting words. "Be careful! If the stories hold up, Do'rhajul would have you exactly where he wants you in there without support!"
Toun, Teknall, and the Azibo known as Sularn, Rovaik Settlement, Ironheart Mountains Written by Rtron, Bbeast, and Muttonhawk
Toun, trying to kill time, listens to some prayers and hears the Rovaik calling to him.
Toun manifests in front of Sularn the azibo and Gruik the goblin. Gruik concusses himself in prostration and is KO’d for most of the talk.
Sularn gets his mind read and Toun asks him what-up. Sularn beseeches Toun for help.
After a tirade, Toun makes Sularn take a vow as he inscribed it onto Sularn’s skin. - “You must always strive for improvement of your mind, your body, your soul, and the world in which you live. This shall stop at nothing but perfection.” - “You must never do harm to any of my servants, be they white giant, hain of my home, or similar purposeful creature.” - “And you must oppose chaos wherever it encroaches.”
This vow counts as ‘Toun’s essence’ for the purposes of getting a pass from white giants or similar creatures.
The ‘Hain of my home’ mentioned refers to the five tribes of slave hain currently in Cornerstone, not any other hain.
By inscribing the marking on the skin of another mortal being while said being takes the vow, the mark will turn into Tounic calligraphy and become permanent unless the vow is broken at which time it fades and all its effects disappear. The vow cannot be retaken once broken (at this time).
Toun had Sularn promise to travel to improve the world once he sorted his local friends out. As part of this overall deal, Sularn was also told that Toun would call in a favour from everyone marked at some point in the future. Once that happens, they’ll all get to live in the paradise that he creates on this world.
To help them out further, Toun writes down how to farm and keep livestock in his special writing. It was done in the shape of his insignia because Toun is prone to vanity like that as the writing gets smaller and disappears into the pointy bits, it gives more detail and knowledge. Currently, the only writing that can be discerned is the simple stuff. Assistance in the form of uninvented magnifying lenses or microscopes is required to read anything else.
Then Teknall appears in the form of a goblin and does his Teknall things.
Beseeching help from Teknall, Sularn expresses interest in getting assistance in the form of tools.
Toun steps back and tacitly implies to Teknall something along the lines of ‘we cool, dawg.’
Teknall decides to send a certain helper to teach Sularn’s rovaick the secrets of metalworking.
-1 FP: Toun conceives the Mark of Toun with Sularn’s vow in Tounic calligraphy -1 FP: Toun inscribes the secrets of basic plant agriculture in Tounic calligraphy -1 FP: Toun inscribes the secrets of basic animal domestication in Tounic calligraphy
WTF is Tounic calligraphy? It’s Toun’s perfected form of writing that may only be achieved by mortal hands with absolute mastery. It is not inherently magical, but it is so perfect than any intelligent creature that reads it is imparted the information within without needing to recognise the writing. It’s kind of Toun’s thing now.
So, as a whole, do the events of this post mean-? -Yes
The memories of the dancer began to mingle with the visions of flesh in Toun’s mind. Enough was enough. He could not let those mix or else be further haunted by the one thing that he kept coming back to. He needed something else to occupy his mind. Within the gleaming expanse of the Cornerstone, there was little distraction, so he had to look out further. Behind all the paranoid proddings and machinations of those divine beings around him, there was a calming cacophony of the voices of mortals. The way they mixed into meaninglessness allowed for a strange peace. At least, until Toun inevitably found a flaw.
There were some calling his name. They were calling for help, too.
Curiosity tempered by caution took Toun. He suspected a trap, especially since the harsh utterances could only be from the throats of Rovaick. As Toun listened more closely, he pinpointed the location of their prayer.
* * * *
Sularn wearily went through the ritual one more time, intoning the names of the Gods whose aid he needed. It had been three years. Magic continued to crawl forward at an agonizingly slow pace, and there was a giant on the horizon. A monster that spewed flames and shattered mountains. And still the Gods did not respond. Gruik continued to accompany him, assured that Teknall was merely busy with very important things. It was actually quite impressive, how much dedication Gruik had to this. And no doubt it saved him from one of the many deaths by stupidity his brethren were experiencing. Ah, to be as stupid as a goblin. That would be blissful. Sularn thought, going through the motions of the ritual.
However many years the tradition was kept up, the creature known as Sularn would not receive routine silence this time. In his ritualistic chamber, the atmosphere changed. The musty, particular air started to clear. As it did, all present noticed their lungs tightening as if there was less air to breathe in the first place. Cracks and blemishes on all things mundane polished to newness. In the centre of the chamber, beads of perfectly white fluid dripped upwards out of the gaps in the floor.
Sularn stiffened in alarm. Not just from the change in atmosphere, the fact that everything was returning to perfection, or that there beads of pure white fluid rising from the floor. No, it was the sense of magic and power that was flooding into the chamber that gave him his alarm. He tightened his grip on his staff warily, watching as the beads began to take form. Hopefully, this was one of the Gods he had been seeking.
The beads coalesced and melted together into a form that was awfully familiar. The shape of an Azibo began to be seen in the details that formed. Indeed, by the time the air’s pressure returned to normal and all breathed freely, Sularn was looking upon a perfect white porcelain sculpture of himself. Its face was severe indeed.
“Mortal,” the sculpture intoned with a voice that dissolved thoughts. “For what purpose do you call my name?”
As Toun spoke, Sularn could only wince as Gruik threw himself on the ground so hard that his head hit the floor with an alarming crack. The Goblin would be fine. He had a thick skull after all. It was how Toun would react to such stupidity that had Sularn worried.
“Lord of Perfection,” Sularn spoke as he bowed low, “I call upon you to recognize a simple fact. We are not Vestec’s creatures. The Mad God created us, took some of our brethren, and then abandoned us to our own devices. We do not worship him. Unfortunately, your White Giants do not recognize this fact. Whenever one of them grows close to our homes outside of these Mountains, it attacks and attempts to kill us. Our tools are not enough to defend ourselves, nor is our burgeoning magic. Which is why we call upon you for aid, Perfect One. We ask that you convince your White Giants to not attack us, as we have done nothing to hurt any other life forms than is necessary for our own survival.”
A long, pregnant pause filled the chamber. Not a single twitch was betrayed on the face of Sularn’s clay doppelganger. For those moments it felt as if the air was thinning again, though it was not Toun’s doing this time, but simply a reaction to his presence. He did not need to demonstrate his power with how it hung in the air around them.
Eventually there was a silent movement from the statue. Its left hand ascended with grace and extended in a stretch, the arm thinning as it did like taffy. The hand slowed to a stop cupping Sularn’s cheek. “Let me see you.”
Sularn immediately lost track of all of his senses. They were replaced by rushing images of his thoughts and memories, invaded by the gaze of a crazed blue eye. All those he had lost to white giant attacks and all the efforts to save themselves. All of the near-misses and terrors of the world upon the mountains that were his home. Before he knew it, he was in front of the statue again, still in the same room as if nothing had apparently happened.
The statue’s arm retracted back into place but its eyes did not break their gaze with Sularn. It resumed its domineering words, “Typical of my brother to throw together such potential with such glaring flaws in the same. Tell me, mortal Sularn; what would you do with your fleeting life and the lives of your people if you could roam without fear of my servants?”
Sularn, still stunned from suddenly having his mind invaded, took a moment to respond. Shaking himself to clear his thoughts, he slowly began to reply to the God of perfection. “We’d expand outside of our Mountain keep, establishing contact with the other races. Making trade, alliances, and helping defend against Vestec’s, Zephyrion’s, or Yah-Vuh’s incursions against us and the others. Keeping the peace as best we can amongst us.” Sularn spread his hands in a slightly helpless gesture. “We’ve already enough conflict in our world without turning on each other like starving Goblins.”
The statue scrutinised Sularn with a narrow-eyed stare. It seemed to pause to take a breath, even though it did not breathe. It simply expanded its chest in a similar movement. “Peace.” The first word in reply came suddenly. “Peace and prosperity. You would wish this.” The statue turned and began to pace with heavy clay clinks against the floor. “I can tell you now that you are currently incapable of doing anything more than surviving, day by day, even without the threat of my servants. Such a wish is useless and would not better the world.”
The statue stopped and extended its staff onto the floor in front of it. With a slow sweeping scrape, it began to draw a circle around itself in the dust. “How would you know how to better yourselves and the world around you if you do not even have the time to think beyond survival?” The circle was complete and the statue turned to pace out of it.
Clink...clink...clink...clink…
As soon as it was far enough away from the first, it traced another circle. “There are things you do that take up far too much of your limited time, mortal Sularn. Sleep is the most, though that is not to be helped. Other little spare times are spent beseeching myself and my siblings, or socialising, mating, fighting, leading. There is one more that takes up more time than you have to better yourself.” The statue finished its second circle, having made them adjacent to one another by their edges. It paced gracefully to that intersection point.
Clink...clink...clink...clink…
“Can you recognise what it is I speak of, mortal? It is common to almost all living fauna.” The statue’s staff extended to begin drawing a larger circle to enclose the smaller two while it waited for a response.
Sularn listened quietly, not daring to speak while Toun was busy with his drawings. One could never be to sure with the Gods, something he was surprised Gruik knew. The little Goblin hadn’t so much as twitched the entire time they were talking to the God. If it wasn’t for the fact that he could see him breathing, Sularn would have thought him dead.
As it became clear that Toun was waiting for a response, if not clear what exactly his purpose in drawing the circles and speaking was, Sularn began to puzzle over the question. The God had spoken of most of the things he and the other Rovaick spent time doing, along with the brief glimpses of other races they had, with only a few missing. He immediately dismissed the idea of it being relieving wastes.
The scraping of the clay staff against the floor came to a halt as the third circle was completed. Uneasy silence pervaded until the statue stood up straight and faced Sularn. “The desire pulls you as we speak.”
Sularn’s stomach grumbled.
It was fairly easy, after that, to know what the God of Perfection spoke of. “Eating and drinking, Perfect One? The former takes mere seconds at times, given that any Rovaick can easily pick up a rock and gain sustenance from it. Wherever we go, we will have food. Provided whatever we ingest is not poisonous, that is.”
There was an air of disgust that permeated from the statue. Its upper lip lifted for a moment and its grip on the staff tightened. The disgust might have turned into threat, but it receded before there was another response. “Go on then, mortal Sularn. Eat a rock, take no more than a few seconds. If you are so confident that you will not starve if that is your only meal for the day, you may continue surviving like an animal for ages to come.” The statue tilted its head slightly. “Unless, you wish to better yourself and your people?”
The statue offered a hand. “There are ways to gain sustenance without subsisting on what Slough leaves unsupervised. You can do so without taking all your time and thought. You can become greater, smarter, more powerful. Your magic may even flourish as I know you desire it to. I can provide this to you beyond mere safety from the white giants so you can be capable and learn to make this world better. What say you, mortal Sularn? Are your people animals, snuffling along the ground? Going nowhere from this mountain range? Or are you more than your sire abandoned you to be?” Before Sularn could answer, the statue added. “I will have something from you in return, to prove your worth.”
Sularn kept his mouth shut, idly waiting for the God’s tirade of insults to end. He didn’t call up on his help to be told what he already knew. That without help they’d be in their current state for far longer than they’d like. He paused, waiting for a moment when Toun would give him the opportunity to speak and secure his help. That opportunity did not take long.
Sularn stared at the offered hand for a few moments before taking it. “We are far more than our sire ever imagined we will be. And we will make him regret the day he decided to create us.”
As soon as he touched the statue’s hand, the circles inscribed upon the ground began to glow red, turning to a bright pink light spreading over all exposed surfaces. It came with a rush of apparent power with potential only limited by Toun’s fathoming.
The statue did not express any particular emotion, but its intonations held an air of ambition reflected from Sularn. “It will be so.”
The statue then pinched Sularn’s hand and forcibly turned it such that his palm was exposed upwards. The white staff began to shrink until it was the size of the length of Sularn's hand and tapered to a spike so sharp that the thought of its touch sent tingles down the spine. Sularn resisted the urge to yank his hand back, feeling the power rush through the room and the spike. A thick, opaque red liquid was hinted at the end of the spike, brighter than blood, but just as hungry to spread.
“With this power I bestow, mortal Sularn, creature born of chaos, a compact is sealed.” The statue lowered the spike to Sularn's skin. “You shall carry my essence, both to represent my will upon your people and to be recognised by my servants as an ally.” The spike ran across Sularn's palm, apparently cutting open his flesh at first, but with no pain or shock. “You may bestow this essence upon any creature that agrees to these conditions.”
Sularn stared at his hand as it was cut open. The words resonated in his mind, as he felt the power rushing through him and the conditions beginning to bind his soul.
The spike finished inscribing one character, one that seemed to carry in itself the entire meaning of the statue’s following words. “You must always strive for improvement of your mind, your body, your soul, and the world in which you live. This shall stop at nothing but perfection.”
The second character was given next to the first. It exuded connotations of harmony and yielded arms. “You must never do harm to any of my servants, be they white giant, hain of my home, or similar purposeful creature.”
Sularn noted, at the back of his mind, that he and his people were not under any similar protections. He could only hope Toun never turned on them.
The final character was especially jagged compared to the other two. “And you must oppose chaos wherever it encroaches.”
That was a given to Sularn. Fighting against Chaos was what the Rovaick were going to do, with or without the help of the Gods.
The statue’s spike was pulled out, brought back, and turned once more into a staff in exact replica to Sularn’s. “If any who have taken these vows break them, their mark shall disappear. They shall be hunted by my servants once more, forsaken from my favour.”
Before Sularn's eyes, the runes torn into his flesh with such a dissonant lack of pain had become simple red marks on his hand without him even noticing. Not even a scar remained. Still, the characters now inscribed felt now so integral to his being that the flesh may as well have been traumatised as he had witnessed.
“Of course, my lord. Anyone who breaks this vow will be hunted by your servants and us alike. But I will choose those who get blessed by you wisely. ” Sularn said, bowing low again. “What will you have from me, Perfect One, to prove my worth?”
The statue’s head angled back, looking down upon Sularn with blank consideration. “Once you have realised the salvation of your own local people, once they have bettered themselves and are on a course to continue to do so, you will travel.” The statue gracefully swept one hand through the air between them, “Show the world the way of your newfound prosperity. Every single one that can listen, Rovaick or no. This will all be for your sake, of course…” The statue’s head peered down and its voice hushed, “...but I shall call upon all with a mark such as yours eventually. Your oath shall be fulfilled on a day of sweeping perfection, where my servants pave Galbar in white and peace. A paradise shall reign. The oathbound shall contribute and then enjoy it for eternity. And they shall never fear or suffer for anything again.” The statue’s head and voice levelled. “The time that this day comes is known only by, if anyone, Fate herself. Be prepared for that day, mortal Sularn.”
At this point, the glowing circles around them had slowly faded. In their place were inscribed more red runes in the shape of Toun’s insignia. The statue pointed to them. “So that you may begin your travels before the end of your lifetime, gaze upon my boons. You will need more than rocks to fulfill your tasks.”
From any distance beyond a few paces, the writings seemed alien and unintelligible. Up close, however, their forms were strangely intuitive. Further inspection quickly revealed that their meanings were obvious to any creatures with eyes and sentience. On one end of the circles were characters that evoked thoughts of animals; local mountain and grassland grazers, big and small. Around them were some enclosing marks, as if they were in pens, but these seemed more soft and benevolent than simple traps. It was as if whatever was enclosing them was protecting them for some kind of service rendered. On the other end of the circles were various edible plants from the lower mountains. Rice, onions, and others could all be seen. In addition was how to collect their seeds and the way their seeds fascinatingly grew from moist, fertile soil. Funnily enough, there was an organisation to them. The way the seeds grew were in rank and file, unlike the haphazard sprouts in nature.
The runes described more and more as they circled around, giving an overwhelming level of information and insight. To those that might have already known them, irrigation, fence building, milking, and stock driving techniques were all very vaguely imparted without explanation. Unfortunately, just as the symbols started to get into the whys and hows, they seemed to shrink as the curves of Toun’s insignia tapered. Soon enough they could no longer even be read as the size of the text shrank to the point of disappearing. The ever-increasing detail was from there lost in the limits of mortal optics, perhaps restricting the execution of these advanced concepts until a foundation was built. Nevertheless, the inspiration was there for any who could decipher it.
In the end, this boon left for Sularn was not something that could be analysed as a complete piece. It was the opening chapter of a guide to cultivating food from one’s own efforts, leaving much to learn from practicing its concepts. This would take a long time to work out. Luckily, it seemed as though the runes were engraved into the floor and nothing short of digging them up looked likely to disturb them.
Sularn studied the complex markings in the stone Toun had left. They were new, and unfamiliar, but they did not seem too terribly complicated. “Yes, yes.” He murmured to himself. It wouldn’t be hard to implement these, and use them to their fullest ability to support and improve the Rovaick.
As Sularn gazed upon Toun’s writings, the statue suddenly perked its head upwards and slowly rotated to look at a seemingly inconsequential detail on the far wall. As it was when it manifested, no expression betrayed the statue’s reaction. Soon, Sularn felt what demanded the statue’s attention. Another presence was beginning to manifest itself in the chamber. The stone of the wall rippled and bulged, the distortions taking a humanoid outline before the figure of a goblin stepped out, the stone receding back to its normal position as though it were a pool of water which he had just emerged from. Although the body of the new arrival was that of a goblin, it was evident that this was no normal goblin. His posture was upright and confident. His skin and hair had only a tiny amount of grit in it. His physique was healthy and strong. His clothes were of the utmost quality, with a sturdy leather apron bearing multiple pockets. And he held an air of authority and intelligence far greater than even the most powerful Azibo.
It was in this form that Teknall had decided to manifest himself to the Rovaick. As he stepped out from the wall he quickly twisted his face through every possible facial expression, adapting himself to having an actual face once more, before settling on one of amicability. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his joints and stretched his spine briefly, adjusting to this new endoskeletal body. His eyes looked to the statue, then Sularn, then the spiral of calligraphy on the ground, and then to Gruik. Finally, he said to the group, “Hello. I hope I’m not too late.”
The statue blinked, indicating at least a sign of surprise. “All before you is self evident, brother,” the statue replied, before turning its head back to Sularn. “You had prayed to us both,” the statue stepped back from between them with another sequence of ominous clinks. “I do not intend to deny you its answer, mortal.”
He was taken from his study by the feeling of immense power approaching once more. He straightened up and bowed as the God of Crafts took form of a Goblin. “Welcome, Master Crafter.“ Sularn looked over at the still for prone form of Gruik. Why wasn’t he gibbering in excitement at the sight of his beloved God? Suspiciously, the Azibo poked his goblin friend with his staff. Gruik rolled over, snoring gently. Sularn gave a sigh. The fool knocked himself out in his eagerness to profane himself before Toun.
“I apologize, Lord Teknall, Lord Toun. In his...exuberance, Gruik appears to have knocked himself out.” Sularn gave a small smile. “Though perhaps that is a blessing, as I suspect he would have gibbering in excitement at meeting you, Master Craftsman. Making my job of asking for your help much more difficult. Trust me, excited goblins are quite...entertaining.”
A little smirk crept onto Teknall’s lips. Gruik’s predicament was quite ironic. He had half a mind to awaken him, but that would be best saved until after negotiations were completed.
Sularn continued, “The Rovaick would like your help as well, Lord Teknall. The goblins are quite skilled at crafting, but with your help we could become even better. Create these new tools Toun has given us. Arm and armor our allies and own troops against Vestec’s armies.” Sularn threw his arms wide. “We are sitting in your Mountains, that are filled with your minerals and ores. Why not enable us to use them against Vestec as soon as possible?”
Teknall smiled. “You are observant indeed to have noticed that these mountains are filled with my blessings.” He walked over to a wall and, at his touch, a lump of ore emerged from it and into his left hand. “To a civilisation which can harness it, it is a mighty blessing, one which will lead to countless more.” The lump of ore in his hand began to glow red hot. “And to harness it, you often need only heat.” The ore began to melt, and weep a smooth incandescent yellow liquid which Teknall collected in his cupped right hand. As the molten metal began to cool, Teknall moulded it with his fingers and his will into a tiny copper hammer. Then, holding the hammer lightly in his hand, he tapped it against the stone wall, and the room rang for a moment with a gentle metallic chime.
“From that information alone you could spark a technological revolution, given time and commitment to develop the techniques and build the infrastructure. I have been tracking Vestec’s hordes closely, and can tell you that none are coming for these mountains. So can you give me any reason for me to provide greater assistance? And who are these allies you speak of?” Teknall inquired.
The statue, listening patiently to the goblin, slowly turned it's expressionless face to Sularn. Something unsaid was in his demeanour, though it was evident that it chose not to speak just yet.
“If we react to the marchings of evil only when they threaten us, when they do threaten us, we will find that we have no one to turn to for aid.” Sularn replied, glancing at the melted ore. “Our allies are every race who seeks peace rather than war. The Hain. The Angels. The Urtelem. Yah-Vuh’s Sculptors. United, we have a chance. Divided, we will surely fall, piece by piece, to the machinations of Vestec, Zephyrion, Astarte, and any others who find joy in the chaos.” Sularn began to pace in front of the Gods. “It is true that with time and effort we could unlock the secrets of your blessings. We have the will, the minds, and the effort. But we do not have the time. By the time we have unlocked these secrets, it will be too late to help aid those fighting for their lives. It is up to you, Master Craftsman. We will aid those outside our Mountains. But when is up to the aid you give us. The Rovaick can either help defend the Nice Mountains and the Hain, or we can wait to expose ourselves to the world.”
Teknall nodded, clearly pleased with Sularn’s response. “You show global awareness and foresight, and I have seen that the Rovaick are industrious and hardworking. You have earned my favour.” He then paused as he thought. Metalworking was a big step for a civilisation. It would take time and effort to properly teach them, yet this world was getting increasingly busy so another sabbatical into mortal circles might not be viable. Then he remembered the words he had spoken with Illunabar, her Muses and the different voices they had, and he came up with a plan.
“To teach you the ways of metalworking will take time. It is not likely that you will be able to arm yourselves to fight Vestec’s hordes this time, although when you are next needed you will definitely be ready. I shall send to you a helper, and that helper will teach you how to refine and craft metals, for the benefit of all,” Teknall said, “This skill is to be used to advance your race and the races around you, to defend against the forces of destruction and to protect others, and to be a boon for all races on Galbar who align with peace. Beyond that, it is to be used as you and your kind see fit, although do not make me regret granting you this blessing.”
Sularn bowed low. “You will not regret this, Master Craftsman.”
Teknall looked around the room one more time, and his eyes came upon Gruik. He paused for a moment before approaching the unconscious goblin. He knelt down next to him and gently tapped the little copper hammer on the ground next to his ear, a resonant tone ringing from the hammer and stirring Gruik from his slumber.
Teknall looked to Gruik with a warm smile on his face. ”Hello there, Gruik. I’ve heard you are quite the devoted goblin,” he said. ”I must leave soon, but you can keep this as a souvenir of my visit.” He laid the little copper hammer down next to Gruik, then stood up and stepped back.
“Eh?! Whoze iz there?” Grui suddenly shot up to his feet, looking around wildly. Evidently this wasn’t his first time being awoken from an accidental slumber. When he heard Teknall’s voice his eyes went wide and his jaw visibly dropped. He carefully picked up the hammer, holding it in shaking hands as he carefully examined it. The goblin was crying and grinning, muttering, “Iz been blessed, Iz been blessed.”
”Yours is now a destiny to remember, mortal Sularn” The statue gave its words again, finally. ”Do not disappoint me.” The statue, showing an inflection of approval in its resonant voice, then turned its head to Teknall and spoke. “Until the next time, brother.”
Teknall nodded in response.”Until then, brother.”
With that, the statue seemed to lose its animation and assumed a position of standing guard. Some of its features flattened and lost their intricate detail. With the changes, the power in the atmosphere faded up like a cloud of smoke from one’s eyes. Toun was gone, leaving behind a clean room and a hollow white porcelain statue in Sularn’s likeness.
”You’ll hear from me again soon,” Teknall said to Sularn. He waved the two Rovaick farewell before stepping into the wall and disappearing the same way he came.
Sularn bowed to both before gesturing to Gruik. “Come on. We’ve got changes to make.” The little goblin began to immedaitely babble to him. “Did youz see what he gave me? Did youz? Did youz? Iz been blessed I haz I haz!”
"Hold! Close ranks!" Gallus had his group refrain from pursuing the enemy before there could be collisions with Ri'vashi's central lines. The fight for the courtyard was over. The walls were almost taken. Now came the next hardest part after opening the gate; taking the keep.
Gallus took Uthri and Peiter with him to reunite with Ri'vashi and assess the situation. "How are we going to get through that?" Gallus asked with a raised voice, though not sounding cynical in the slightest. "It's too tight for the Senche-rahts to fight. We'll need the mages."
The eyes of Janius' opponent clenched shut for an instant with Meesei's first bolt against the enemy mage beyond. Janius roughly the timing of Meesei's follow-up spell and used the flash to take his opponent by surprise. When the second bolt crackled along beside them, Janius wrapped his leg around the enemy swordsman's knee and shoved him to one side. The swordsman was tripped off balance for long enough for Janius to run the blade of his axe along his throat.
The wall continued to be taken, though at a faster pace this time. The loss of the courtyard was affecting the morale of the defenders noticeably.
Lorag's words turned both Janius and Fendros' heads to what he was looking at. The Khajiit on the balcony was the largest they had ever seen, short of a Senche-raht. Lorag wasn't lying about the physical bulk of his former commander. They could only hope that accounts of his tenacity were more exaggerated.
With no more targets in the courtyard, Fendros drew an arrow and aimed up at the commander. He didn't think much of it when he loosed his arrow -- he definitely knew that he wouldn't get through that armour. However, it would be interesting to see the reaction if his arrow could reach up to him. The implications of drawing attention to themselves did not come to his mind until the arrow was halfway through its flight.
Fendros gave Ahnasha a sideways look and lowered his brow. He didn't want her to avoid the situation but trying to reason with her in the middle of a fight was not the best idea. He looked ahead and drew another arrow. "Later, then!" he shouted as he aimed.
The advance along the wall continued more slowly than preferred, despite Ahnasha's thrashing thrall cutting its way further, resistance was fierce. Janius stepped forward with his shield raised to try and apply more pressure, idly noticing the grit of the ash under his feet. As he swung down on the head of the enemy before him, a Suthay-raht khajiit with a sword and shiled, he was blocked and he tried to push and pull to hook the enemy weapon. The Khajiit mage moved into the periphery of Janius' vision as the bind continued and the lines seemed to step back behind their mages. This left Janius and his opponent out in the open near the left flank, struggling with grit teeth and hoping they didn't get caught in the spells that would be exchanged. Janius was the stronger of the two -- he knew he just needed a few more moments to overcome the swordsman.
It was hard to contribute anything to the fight ahead from where Sabine was. However, when the way was cleared, she took the opportunity to cast an orb of freezing ice in the direction of the enemy. The unyielding ice storm spell would cover many enemies lined up on the wall. In response to seeing the Khajiit mage, Sabine raised a ward. Meesei would probably not need help but Sabine would provide it if needed.
Gallus once again got stuck into the fighting as pace after pace of the courtyard was gained against the garrison. Uthri was the loudest in the line, screaming defiance in the face of the enemy force that killed Irenya. She had discarded her spear and was cutting at enemies left and right with her nordic sword. She managed to get most of her front covered in Khajiit blood before Gallus grabbed her by the scruff of her armour and pulled her back behind the more coherent formation fighting the enemy. What Gallus shouted to Uthri was drowned out by battle to all who were further away than a few yards. Eventually, Uthri stood up with a bowed head and took a moment to compose herself. Gallus took a moment to squeeze her shoulder, but he had to return to command. Uthri found her spear again and got back in line with clearer liquid joining the blood dripping from her face.
Though it wasn't immediately visual, Sabine felt herself become relieved that Peiter had not been harmed by the Senche-raht appearing. As well, Meesei's reminder brought her focus back. She patted at her shoulder bag and felt the bulbous flask of one of her magicka potions as if she might have forgotten to bring them. Struggling to cast more ice spears didn't reminder her of them either until now. "Right, um..." Sabine's eyes wandered into space as she quickly put together an answer, "I used too much. I will drink one now." With that, she fished out a flask of blue liquid and drank it down as they advanced.
Janius provided similar support to when they slowed down the phalanx. From behind Kaleeth, Lorag, Do'ajee, and Ra'kalesh he sent fire spells in the direction of the enemy. If the fighters at the front came back for a short break, Janius took their place. As the undead werelion leapt forth from the top of the crenellations, he recognised it as the one that Ahnasha, had brought, but the way it fought was unsettling. He kept back while it did its job rather than get near its disturbing assault. He didn't even know that Ahnasha had been capable of making such vicious undead thralls. He had thought that he would have seen her practising more to get to this point. The idle thoughts on why that was were kept to the back of Janius' mind while the battle continued to rage.
Fendros was somewhat distracted as she joined Ahnasha in taking shots at the enemy below where he found viable targets. "The thrall, it's..." he paused to aim and loose an arrow, allowing another point to come up in his mind. "...Are you sure...? Well..." Fendros heard the breaking of glass and witnessed a partially obscured view of the undead werelion wreaking havoc in its own terrifying way. "Not to say it isn't effective, just that the others might be confronted by it on our side and..." Another arrow loosed, another thought, "...don't those things...when they die again, they...you know..." Fendros turned his head to the creature while he tried to find the words in all the things he was keeping track of. An end to the havoc was signalled with something ahead crumbling to dust after having killed many enemies. That put the words in Fendros' head. "Won't his friends want the body back?" It seemed to Fendros like a pointless discussion by now.
While the advantage was pressed from all sides, Gallus stepped back from the front line to take in the situation. "Keep up the attack!" He shouted while holding his hammer high. From his position on the ground, Ri'vashi's advance might have been hard to spot, but Ri'vashi's hulking armoured form was apparent enough over the heads of the clashing forces without her swinging her sword around in bloody arcs. Things were going very well, almost too well. Soon the enemy would break and the assault on the keep would begin. Only an attack by a reserve force from outside of the keep could stop them.
But they could have a secret door or some kind of sally port...
Gallus looked to Uthri and was reminded that she was not in the best of states for concentrating. He instead turned to Peiter in lieu of having a better runner. "Peiter!" Gallus beckoned him close and unshouldered a signal horn. The horn was pressed into Peiter's chest. "Get to one of the archer groups on the walls!" Gallus shouted into his face over the noise, "Find their leader! Tell him Gallus says to position someone on the gatehouse and look out for a flanking force! Hand him this horn so he can give a warning signal and then you head straight back here! Do you understand!?"
Uthri didn't respond to Peiter until she shakily brought her fingers to close Irenya's eyelids. At that point, she turned her head to Peiter and revealed a face of pure rage. She breathed with audible force through her nose as she picked up her spear and slowly stood up. "I'll kill them," she muttered, beginning to catch up with the formation. Her haste had her break into a run and scream, "I'll kill them all!"
With the broken state of the enemy elites there was no shortage of killing going on already. Gallus pushed his lines as hard as he could against the retreating enemy so they would have fewer to face inside the keep as they retreated. It was bloody work, but even he had a strength to his hammer strikes indicative of contained rage. Uthri fought with no regard for her life but there was little that even tried to fight back against the enraged Nord woman. It was a wonder that she didn't transform on the spot.
"Wheel left!" Gallus shouted eventually as there was little else in the elite's resolve to worry about. "Strike the centre!" His hammer pointed towards the flank of Ri'vashi's foes. His soldiers formed up to strike out once more.
Janius couldn't help but notice foul glances attracted to themselves as they regrouped with Ahnasha and Meesei. He didn't know what was causing them until he noticed that one of their soldiers was blank looking and heavily wounded werelion. The din of battle overturned any protest he might have immediately had, but he found himself looking uneasy with their new companion.
When they did reach the top of the wall, Fendros took Ahnasha's shoulder and gave her a quick look up and down. Satisfied that she had not been injured, he released his breath and let her go. "Good, you're unharmed. That was poor timing from that gas." Fendros gave a fleeting glance to the reanimated werelion, but didn't stop them all. As they began to advance again, he asked, "Are you sure that's a good idea, Ahna?"
Sabine was a little more distraught when the others regrouped. She caught Meesei's eye worriedly. "Did you see Peiter?" Sabine asked, "Is he okay?"
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPjJCVylFBo[/youtube][/center]
[quote=Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.]
Dear Mr Curly,
I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all [u]nothings[/u] lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that [u]I[/u] am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.
Yours sleepily,
Vasco Pyjama
xxx
P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!
[/quote]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><iframe src="//youtube.com/embed/HPjJCVylFBo?theme=dark" frameborder="0" width="496" height="279" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><br><br><blockquote class="bb-quote">Dear Mr Curly,<br>I have done little travelling lately because I have been so dreadfully weary. Can it be true as the old Ecclesiastes said; that all things lead to weariness? Surely not. Perhaps the opposite is true: that all <span class="bb-u">nothings</span> lead to weariness. I have a peculiar feeling, Curly, that <span class="bb-u">I</span> am worn out from something I haven't yet done and the more I don't do it, the more exhausted I become. How strange. Could it be something I haven't realised? Perhaps it's something I haven't said? Something I haven't finished! It must be very large and true whatever it is and a lively struggle in the doing but I look forward to it immensely. I know I need it. First, however, I must curl up in my chair and sleep deeply with the duck. Perhaps I'll dream of this thing and wake up refreshed and do it. My fond wishes to you Mr. Curly, and to all Curly Flat.<br>Yours sleepily,<br>	Vasco Pyjama<br>	xxx<br>P.S. Not having breakfast can make you weary. That's for sure!<footer>Michael Leunig. The Curly Pyjama Letters.</footer></blockquote></div>
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